CHAPTER 38
Jaxon
"You have reached Anna—"
I hung up before her voicemail could finish, frustration and worry churning in my gut like acid.
I stood on the porch of our cabin, the cool night air brushing against my skin, doing nothing to calm the unease that had been building for the past hour.
I stared toward the trail that led to Connor's, my eyes straining in the darkness for any sign of headlights, any indication that she was on her way home.
It had been hours since I left her at the barn. Hours. And although we hadn't set a specific time for her return, I knew Anna. She was efficient, organized, methodical. Even with a big group coming tomorrow, she wouldn't take this long just to prep equipment.
The dinner I'd prepared sat untouched on the table inside. The aroma of garlic and tomato sauce drifted through the open door behind me, making my stomach twist. I'd lost my appetite around the time I started checking my phone every five minutes.
An hour ago, I'd texted her, keeping it casual: How much longer? Dinner's ready. Simple. Non-controlling. Giving her space without pressure.
But I got nothing back. Not even a read receipt.
The silence from her was unlike her. Anna was good about communication, overly good sometimes, like she was afraid not responding immediately would be seen as defiance or avoidance. A learned behavior from Daniel. One that broke my heart every time I noticed it.
Now, when I called, it didn't even ring. It went straight to voicemail, like her phone was dead or turned off.
Dead battery. Has to be. She probably got absorbed in her work and forgot to charge it.
But the explanation felt hollow, unconvincing even to myself. My Marine training had taught me to trust my instincts, and right now every instinct I had was screaming that something was wrong.
I clenched my jaw, my mind racing with possibilities, trying to find logical explanations that would calm the growing panic in my chest. Maybe she'd decided to stay at Connor's for the night, found him watching a movie and joined him, fell asleep on his couch.
No. She would have found a way to tell me. She knows I worry.
Determined to check on her, to put this gnawing anxiety to rest one way or another, I walked down the steps.
My boots thudded against the wooden planks, loud in the quiet night.
I climbed into my Jeep, the engine roaring to life as I turned the key, and set off toward the barn, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly enough to make my knuckles ache.
I tried to reassure myself: She's fine. You're being paranoid.
But paranoia had kept me alive in Afghanistan. Paranoia had saved my life and the lives of my unit more than once. And right now, that same paranoia was telling me that something was very, very wrong.
The drive to Connor's felt simultaneously too long and too short. My headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the familiar path, the trees pressing in on either side. Every shadow looked sinister, every sound made me tense.
I turned toward Connor's house, scanning the area, and my heart sank when I realized her truck was gone. The empty space where it should have been parked felt ominous. Wrong.
If she left, she would've had to pass me on the way home. There's only one road.
But I hadn't seen any sign of her. No headlights. No sound of an engine. Nothing.
The unease in my gut intensified, morphing into something darker, more urgent. I climbed back into my Jeep, movements hurried and agitated and parked directly in front of Connor's house. The tires crunched on the gravel driveway, the sound too loud in the quiet night.
Lights were on inside—warm, golden light spilling from the windows. Normal. Completely normal.
I thought desperately: Please let her be in there. Please let her be watching TV with Connor, her phone dead, totally fine.
I strode toward the front door, my long legs covering the distance quickly, and entered without knocking. "Connor?" I called out from the entryway, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
"In here," came the reply, relaxed and unconcerned.
I turned the corner and found Connor on the sofa, a beer in his hand and his feet propped up on the coffee table while he watched some action movie. The flickering light from the television cast shadows across his face, and he looked up at me with a grin.
He doesn't know. He has no idea.
"Get sick of your girlfriend already?" Connor asked, teasing as he lifted the beer bottle to his lips.
The casual question, the lightness in his voice, it made something snap.
"No," I growled, my voice low and tense, vibrating with barely controlled fear and anger. "I can't find her."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and terrible. My hands curled into fists at my sides, my jaw ticking as I fought to control the rising panic threatening to consume me.
I had to remind myself to stay calm. Panic doesn't help anyone.
Connor's demeanor changed instantly. His head whipped toward me, the grin vanishing as his eyes widened in alarm. He rushed to stand, the beer bottle forgotten on the coffee table, condensation pooling around its base. Without another word, he pushed past me, heading for the door.
"What the hell do you mean you can't find her?" he demanded, worry tightening his voice.
He stepped outside, taking in the empty space where Anna's truck should have been. I watched him register it. The absence, the implications.
He sees it now. Sees that something's wrong.
I followed him, my heart pounding so hard I felt it in my throat, my temples, every nerve ending.
"She was working in the barn and told me to start on dinner," I rushed out.
"She said she would drive her truck back to the cabin after she was done.
That was hours ago, Connor. Hours. And her truck isn't here. "
My voice was rising with each sentence, the urgency of the situation making it harder to maintain the calm, controlled tone I usually defaulted to. Every second we stood here talking was another second that Anna was… where? Doing what? With whom?
I forced the thought away: Don't think about the possibilities. Don't go there yet.
Connor ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in concern as he looked out into the darkness, as if hoping to see Anna's truck materialize out of thin air. The silence of the night pressed in around us. Too quiet, too still, too wrong.
"Okay," Connor said finally, his voice tight with barely contained worry, taking on that commanding tone he used during emergencies. "Let's go check the barn, see if there's any sign of her. Maybe she left a note or something."
A note. Right. Something to explain where she went.
But even as I followed Connor toward the barn, his strides long and purposeful, I knew we wouldn't find a note. Anna wouldn't just leave without telling me. Not after everything. Not after all her promises that she'd communicate, that she'd let me know where she was.
A sense of dread settled in the pit of my stomach as we moved through the darkness, heavy and cold like I'd swallowed ice. My combat instincts were firing on all cylinders, my body preparing for a threat I couldn't yet identify.
My resolve hardened: Find her. Whatever it takes, find her.
Anna
My eyes fluttered open, my vision blurry and unfocused as consciousness slowly returned to me.
The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering through a window.
A dull, throbbing pain radiated from the back of my head, and I winced as I tried to move, my body feeling heavy and sluggish.
Discomfort and confusion washed over me as I attempted to roll onto my side but found it impossible.
Panic began to rise in my chest as awareness registered, the rough texture of rope biting into the delicate skin of my wrists and ankles.
The sensation of something sticky and tight across my mouth made my heart race, and I realized with growing horror that a piece of duct tape had been placed over my lips, silencing any cries for help.
Eyes widening in fear, I lifted my head, ignoring the stabbing pain that shot through my skull at the sudden movement.
I looked wildly around the room, my gaze darting from one shadowy corner to another, searching for any clue as to where I was or who had brought me here.
Finally, my eyes settled on a dark figure sitting motionless in a chair directly opposite me.
One leg was propped up, an ankle resting casually over the other knee, arms draped languidly over the armrests.
As I watched, my heart pounding in my chest, the figure slowly rose from the chair, movements deliberate and calculated.
They made their way toward the bed, each step measured and unhurried, until they stepped into the pale moonlight casting an eerie glow through the window.
My breath caught in my throat as recognition dawned, memories of the attack flooding back in a rush of terror.
Daniel's face came into focus, his dark eyes glinting with a malevolent intensity as he stared down at me. He reached out, his fingers rough and calloused as they brushed against my cheek in a mockery of tenderness. I flinched at the contact, turning my face away, my skin crawling at his touch.
"Don't." Daniel's voice was low and menacing, a command rather than a request. He grabbed my chin, his grip firm and unyielding as he forced me to look at him, his eyes boring into mine with a possessive hunger that made my blood run cold.
He crouched beside the bed, his body looming over me, and leaned in close, his breath hot against my skin.
My heart raced as Daniel ran his nose along my temple, inhaling deeply as he trailed down to my neck, his touch sending shivers of revulsion through me. I trembled beneath him, fear coursing through my veins like ice, my mind reeling with the horrifying realization of my situation.